


Mead and Magic

by orangeflavor



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Friendship, Gen, magic talk, mild angst and fluff, welcome to the Inquisition Fenris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:52:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4044856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeflavor/pseuds/orangeflavor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fenris frowned. 'You had not told me she was a mage.' 'He has a thing with mages.'" – Hawke, Fenris and Inquisitor Lavellan talk shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mead and Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Holy Inquisition Batman! This game has so many wonderful opportunities for little inside stories. And I really wanted to write this scene in particular. It's kind of a 'what-if' scenario if Fenris went along with Hawke for the ride in Inquisition. Because well duh, he'd never leave her. It's just a one-shot. Also I love talking magic. And it seemed like a great thing to imagine, with a mage Lavellan. We get so many good arguments for both sides between the companions of DA2 and this is only a small sliver of perspective on the whole magic deal. However, I'm thinking I need to stick to angst and drama. I went more light-hearted here, with some philosophical tangents and deeper moments but overall, a feel-good piece. Please tell me if I ruined it! I don't do happy well. It's a condition. :(

Mead and Magic

"Fenris frowned. 'You had not told me she was a mage.' 'He has a thing with mages.'" – Hawke, Fenris and Inquisitor Lavellan talk shop.

* * *

"This is Fenris."

Lavellan looked up at Hawke's words.

A white-haired elf with olive skin stepped through the opened flap of the large tent and glanced around, catching sight of the bedrolls, the crates of dry food in the corner, the sword rack along one side and eventually the small wooden table where Lavellan sat, her feathered quill stilled over the parchment spread across the table. Candles placed atop the table and food crates shifted warm orange light around the tent.

From behind Fenris, Hawke moved into the space of the tent, dropping the flap of leather over the tent's opening. She caught sight of the Inquisitor at the table and smiled. The rogue stood just a hair taller than her elven companion.

Fenris had not moved from his entrance into the tent. He took note of the vallaslin markings across the Inquisitor's cheeks, tendrils of ink blooming across her cheekbones and back toward her ears. Her staff was just within reach, leaning against the sword rack behind her. Fenris frowned.

Lavellan had known the introduction would come. When Hawke first spoke of her Warden contact in Crestwood, she also mentioned a rendezvous with her partner, Fenris. He had been trailing a group of Tevinter slavers who were preying on refugees along the mountain pass to Skyhold. Hawke assured Lavellan that Fenris was capable of dealing with the threat himself, and so made plans to rejoin with him once they made camp their first night out of the mountains. Crestwood was still a couple days away, even on their mounts, and the camp had been set earlier that evening. She had only to wait for Hawke's announcement that Fenris had arrived. After the little she was able to squeeze from Varric, Lavellan had so anticipated meeting the man who held Hawke's heart.

Now, he seemed rather taciturn. She cocked her head at his frown, placing her quill on the table and motioning toward the other chairs. "Please, take a seat."

Hawke brushed her short auburn curls over her shoulder as she pulled the dual-blade holster from her back. Setting the leather holster at the edge of the table, she moved to sit across from the Inquisitor. Fenris hesitated only a moment before joining her.

Hawke sighed, stretching her arms out over the tabletop and reaching for one of the mugs atop the keg at the end of the table. She had an eager grin stretched across her face and her fingers itched in giddiness at the sight of the mead. "Inquisitor Lavellan, this is my Fenris. Fenris, this is the big dog."

Lavellan only smirked at the title, shaking her head at the newly befriended Hawke. She moved her eyes to Fenris, watching as he kept his gaze to her even as he spoke to the woman beside him. "You had not told me she was a mage."

Lavellan quirked a brow, both amused and rattled by his clear distaste. She did so love a challenge.

Hawke passed a frothy and overflowing mug to Fenris and he took it with a nod of thanks. As she filled her own mug with mead, Hawke rolled her eyes, speaking to the Inquisitor. "He has a thing with mages."

Lavellan wasn't sure this was made as an apology or an explanation or a warning. She only chuckled.

"It is not a 'thing'," Fenris answered defensively, his eyes flicking to Hawke. "It is an entirely legitimate and justifiable wariness."

Hawke waved a hand dismissively, moving her mug to rest on the table before her. "Like I said. He has a thing."

Lavellan leaned back in her wooden chair and reached for her own mug beside her parchment, already half-drained from earlier in the night. "This won't be a problem, will it?" Her tone was melodic and inviting but even Fenris could sense the quiet danger laced beneath her words.

It was enough to spark the first inkling of respect in him. His frown lessened and he reached for his mug, a glint passing through his eyes as he continued. "I go where Hawke goes. If she feels you are worthy, then I have no cause for concern."

Lavellan blinked. It was such a simple sentiment, but it echoed the deep trust and unflinching loyalty between the two. She caught the proud smile Hawke shot his way, and the soft lilt of his lips barely discernible behind his mug. It warmed her suddenly. "I've heard a bit about you."

"Likely from Varric and thus largely untrustworthy." Fenris settled into his chair.

Lavellan smiled. "Well, he did mention you might have issues with my magic."

"I have issues with any such unchecked threat."

She didn't know why it should bother her so much that he said it. "I am no threat to you, Fenris."

He chuckled darkly. "The assurance of a mage is hardly comforting."

Hawke blew an exasperated breath through her lips and rested both arms on the table, keeping her mug in her grip. "Maker, don't get him started."

Lavellan glanced to Hawke momentarily as she leaned back in her seat, then rested her gaze on Fenris. "No, I'd rather like to have this discussion. After all, we'll likely be fighting beside each other now that you've joined the Inquisition. We should get to know one another, don't you agree?"

Fenris kept his mouth in a tight line.

Lavellan drummed the fingers of her free hand against the wood of the table, her other resting along the handle of her mug. "I was under the impression that mages were a part of your little companion circle in Kirkwall."

"Well, to be fair," Hawke started, "they were my friends really. Fenris was just kind of…tainted by association."

"I detest that expression."

Hawke waved him off. "You detest a lot of things."

"What about your sister?" Lavellan interjected to Hawke. "Your sister Bethany was a mage right? I mean, how did that work out?"

Fenris grumbled.

Hawke laughed. "A lot of snarky comments and our own fair share of arguments."

"Many of which ended with the imbibing of alcohol," Fenris remarked fondly.

Hawke grinned at him. "Which makes all things equal."

Lavellan took a sip from her mug. "Where is she now?"

Something tender and hesitant flashed across Hawke's features, and her eyes drifted to her mug for a moment. "She's somewhere in the Free Marches, trying to find passage on a ship to Rivain."

"Why Rivain?"

Fenris' fingers were light and graceful over Hawke's arm. "We have an acquaintance who –"

"A _friend_ ," Hawke intoned.

Fenris smirked. "A friend who might be able to keep Bethany safe and clear of this mage-templar war until things are settled."

Lavellan eyed the two of them. "I imagine you've both seen your fair share of consequences from this confrontation."

"Front row tickets, didn't you hear?" Hawke joked.

Lavellan mused silently for a minute, watching the barely discernible hitch in Hawke's throat as she laughed off her comment and took a swig from her mug. Fenris' touch had retreated to his own mug, but there was the watchful glance from hooded lids that swung Hawke's way as she spoke.

Lavellan rolled the words along her tongue before deciding to speak. "Anders was a friend of yours I hear."

Hawke's fingers tightened minutely on her mug. "'Was' being the operative word."

"The abomination is dead." Fenris' words were sharp and decisive. "Too late to matter though."

"Fenris…" There was something disapproving in Hawke's voice, though soft and hesitant.

The elf could not help the hard look he gave his lover then. "You cannot fault me my hate for the man. He is unworthy of your defense."

"I'm not defending him, you idiot, I'm just…" Hawke pursed her lips and looked back to Lavellan. "Needless to say, this is still a touchy subject for us."

Lavellan breathed a soft laugh. "I hadn't noticed."

Fenris took a large swig of his mead. "If there is to be a face to put to the menace that is magic, then his is quite the appropriate choice."

"'Menace'?" Lavellan almost spluttered.

"Andraste's tits," Hawke moaned into her mug, waiting for the inevitable argument.

"Yes," Fenris affirmed unashamedly. "It is the kindest word I can think to attribute to magic and its wielders."

Lavellan sat forward, her mead forgotten. "You say it as though we are all criminals and vagabonds, when that is hardly the case."

Hawke reached for a refill of mead form the nearby keg and then sat back to watch the two.

Fenris crossed his arms. "There are enough power-hungry and apathetic mages in your lot to doom the entirety."

The Inquisitor scoffed. "So the crimes of a few are to represent the value of the whole then? I need hardly to project that reasoning on the whole of Thedas for you to see the absurdity of that statement."

"The 'whole of Thedas' is not susceptible to demon possession." Fenris leaned forward, a finger pointed to the table as he spoke, exacting each point as he worded it. "The unique circumstances of a mage's disposition and vulnerability to mystical perversion make them infinitely more dangerous than the average citizen."

"So simply having power is enough to be feared? That can be said for every tyrant king in Thedas."

"It is not the 'having' of such power but the ways in which it can be maneuvered, often by someone other than the actual host. That mages can be overcome by demons and turned against their fellow man. That they may simply be vacant tools for the malicious. That even when weak, they are a threat. This is the danger. If they are not strong enough to govern their own power, if they fall prey to a darker force, then even those they love are at risk. In the case of mages, it is not only the powerful who may threaten our safety, it is the weak as well." Fenris' nostrils flared, his eyes heavy and bored into Lavellan. His whole body was tense and taut, ready to snap.

Lavellan blew an exasperated breath through her lips, her eyes narrowing. "And so you would condemn them for that? For weakness? They are victims as well." Her words began to rise, her body leaned forward in her seat unconsciously as she answered him. "We don't point the finger at victims of any other evil. When someone is murdered we don't say 'Well, he was too weak to fend off his attacker, so really, it's his own fault'. Why can't we extend our pity and our empathy and our assistance to these weak-willed mages? Why can't we discover another way? Instead of condemning them. Why are they undeserving of our help?"

"Because you would put others at risk by allowing their weakness."

Lavellan stopped for a second, eyeing him carefully. Her next words were level and clipped. "You were a slave, were you not?"

Fenris' eyes flashed.

"He still is."

Both Fenris and Lavellan swung wide eyes to Hawke's unexpected interruption. She sat slouched in her chair, her mug of mead to her lips, smiling. "A slave to love," she sing-songed, laughing into her drink.

Fenris' eyes rolled heavenward and he wiped a hand down his face. "Maker, grant me patience."

Lavellan released a breath she didn't realize she was holding in the midst of the heated argument. She could barely keep the laugh from bursting through her lips. Instead, she grabbed her own forgotten mug and moved to top off her mead with another fill from the keg.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at Hawke.

"What?" she asked, one hand coming up in defense. "I thought it was time for some levity."

Fenris sucked his teeth in and shook his head, turning back to Lavellan before the rogue could pull a smile from him.

The Inquisitor pulled in a deep breath and settled back into her chair.

Fenris sighed. "I was a slave, yes. Though I question what this fact has to do with our current argument."

Lavellan tapped the side of her mug. "Did your master ever order you to kill someone? Against your own wishes?"

Fenris' eyes narrowed quickly and harshly as he pulled a heavy breath in. He had sensed no accusation in her question, no judgment for an answer she already assumed. But the fact that it is asked at all is enough to harden him. He thought of the Fog Warriors, of a damp morning splashed with blood, warm mud between his toes, an empty sky but for screams. "Yes," he answered, slowly, achingly.

Lavellan's lashes fluttered minutely, recognizing the burden of such an admission, her eyes alighting on a point above his shoulder, not daring his gaze out of respect. She licked her lips and cradled the newly filled mug in her hands. "And should we condemn you for not having the strength to oppose your master?"

Hawke blinked at Lavellan, her shoulders straightening slightly at her words. She glanced to Fenris beside her.

The elf sat stoically in his chair, his hands resting atop the wood of the table. "Their blood is on my hands," he said precisely, meaningfully.

Lavellan sighed. "I don't see you turning yourself in to the nearest authority."

Fenris clenched his teeth, kept his gaze unflinchingly on Lavellan.

The Inquisitor took a sip of mead from her mug, then rested it softly atop the table. "Though you may feel guilt for such an act, I would find no fault in you. Because there was no malicious intent."

Fenris is too overcome with recent memories and ancient hate to bother arguing at the moment. Instead, he knitted his fingers together and rested them on the wood of the table, watching the Dalish mage before him with intense eyes. Beside him, Hawke's gaze was tender and knowing.

"It is true that a weak-willed mage," began Lavellan, "can put others at risk, if they become possessed by a demon. But the havoc wreaked is the work of the demon, not that mage. The _intent_ was the demon's, not the mage's. The sad fact that we do not yet know how to save a mage once they become possessed, only makes it harder for us to distinguish between the demon and the victim."

"I have seen enough victims," breathed Fenris lowly. "They are not hard to distinguish in my experience."

Lavellan watched him through curious eyes, but she continued. "The point is that the inherent magical ability is impartial. It is not inclined for good or for evil. It is merely power at its core. What is suspect, and what _can_ be held accountable, is the intent of the user. In fact, malicious intent can be found in any man, magical or not. We need to learn to separate the 'power' from the 'intent'. We do not call every sword-wielder a murderer. We do not expect every king to be a tyrant. We do not say that because a man _has_ the power to perform evil, he will undoubtedly do it. So why are we so quick to condemn mages? The mage, the actual person behind the magic, is not simply a vessel of power. They are blood and flesh and feeling. They are you and me. And when we treat them as less, we lessen ourselves as well."

Fenris leaned back into his chair, his hands coming to rest along his lap, his mead left unattended on the tabletop. "You are young," he said simply. "And you do not yet know the horrors of this world." There was something sad and tender in his voice, and for the first time Lavellan felt as though she seemed a child to them. Fenris sighed. "I pray you do not learn such things too soon."

Lavellan recognized earnestness in his words, though she smarted at the implication of her naiveté. She turned her gaze to Hawke, her eyes eager and needful. "And you, Hawke? Do you agree with me or not?" She needed desperately to know that it wasn't so tragic, so doomed, so wasteful, this magic. This existence. She needed to know she wasn't a mistake.

Hawke moved a finger around the rim of her mug, tracing the wetness along the edge. Her gaze was muted. "I agree."

Beside Hawke, Fenris sat quietly unsurprised, taking a slow sip of his mead, his gaze thoughtful and knowing on his lover.

Lavellan didn't speak for a moment, only blinked at the Champion in surprise. She didn't think the rogue would have agreed with her. She cleared her throat and adjusted herself in her seat. "So you advocate mage freedom from the Circles?"

"No."

Hawke's answer was so sure, so unquestioning, it took Lavellan aback for a moment. The Dalish elf cocked her head in question, her mouth opening for a moment, and then closing when she couldn't form words.

Hawke took a silent sip of mead.

Lavellan huffed. "And why not?"

Hawke sighed in a way that said this was not the first she'd encountered this reaction. "My hope is that in my own lifetime, mages can enjoy such freedom. But the sad truth is, people are just scared. They're just stupid scared and don't know shit to do with their fear."

Lavellan pursed her lips and furrowed her brows.

Hawke set her mug down. "And that means that until the majority of Thedas can adopt the level-headed compassionate viewpoint that you just demonstrated, the Circles are our best bet at safety for _all_ those in Thedas."

Lavellan crossed her arms, an indignant breath escaping. "At the cost of basic freedoms?"

Hawke furrowed her brow, her fingers tight along the handle of her mug. Beside her, Fenris' hand had come up to graze her arm. She made no motion that she felt the gesture. "If it will mean less blood is shed, then yes." She sighed then, a resigned and meaningful glint to her eyes. "Mankind is a much sadder lot than you make us out to be." There was something hopeful in the quirk of her lips, something tender and regretful.

Lavellan sat back in her chair and looked at the mug in her hands. She stared angrily at the unassuming beverage for several moments before she heard the heavy exhale of breath and the creak of a chair. She looked up to find Hawke standing from her seat, stretching her arms behind her head and twisting her neck.

"Well, now seems as awkward a time as any to make my exit," she offered, smiling at the Inquisitor. She looked down to Fenris and offered a hand. "I'm tired. Tuck me in?"

Fenris shook his head, smirking, and took her hand, raising himself up from his own chair. Hawke reached for her dual-blade holster at the end of the table while Fenris inclined his head toward the Inquisitor. "Thank you for the drink, and the conversation, Lady Inquisitor. I hope it will not be our last."

Lavellan pulled a deep breath through her nose as a slow, reluctant smile spread across her face. "I doubt it will be." She nodded her farewell as the two made their way from the tent, Hawke offering a two finger salute and a quirky smile as the leather flap closed over the tent's entrance behind them.

Outside, Hawke and Fenris walked beside each other on their way to their own tent, passing several Inquisition scouts around a fire pit and an arguing pair of Lavellan's companions, a hulking Qunari and another mage Hawke faintly remembers the Inquisitor calling 'Dorian'.

Hawke smiled to herself. "I like her," she remarked softly.

Fenris raised a brow to the woman next to him as they reached their tent and he opened the flap for her to enter. "You like everyone."

"Not true," she remarked, a finger raised in his direction. She dropped her weapons on the table just inside the tent and moved to unbuckle her leather armor. "I didn't like whats-his-name, that guy…the guy with the funny tattoo…"

Fenris laughed at her as she snapped her fingers, trying to recall a name, her other hand fumbling with the buckles at her shoulder. He shook his head at her and moved to undo the straps himself. "Oh yes, _that_ guy. I know exactly whom you mean." The leather armor fell to the floor between them and he moved his graceful fingers to the belts tying in her armored skirt.

Hawke narrowed her eyes at him. "Hardy har har. Yes, very funny." She moved to unstrap her leather arm bands.

Fenris smirked and released the catch on her belt, sliding the armored skirt to the floor. Hawke stepped out of the leather and bent to retrieve in, setting it on the armor stand by their bedrolls. She was left in her loose cotton tunic and pants as she sat on the floor to start untying her knee-length boots. Fenris had already begun removing his gauntlets and chest plate.

"I'm serious though."

"You?" Fenris quirked a brow.

Hawke threw her glove at him.

He caught it with a laugh. Fenris kneeled on the ground before her, settling between her legs as she sat with her arms atop her knees. "I am sorry. Continue." He quieted, raising his brows at her in a motion for her to go on.

She eyed him suspiciously for a second before starting up again. "I think she's good for this Inquisition. Untainted. Idealistic. Brand spanking new and all, you know?"

Fenris sighed softly. "Is' idealistic' a desired quality in a leader?"

Hawke shrugged. "Sometimes."

"She is so very young. Can't be more than twenty winters or so." There was something sad when he said it. As though it is as old as they expect her to live.

Hawke nodded silently. "We were once ourselves." She blew a breath through her lips. "From the mouths of babes, right?"

"Let us hope."

She smiled when he said it.

He brushed a curl behind her ear. "I suppose we will have to wait and see."

"Yes, because you are the poster child of patience."

Fenris growled playfully as he leaned into her, grinning wolfishly. She shrieked in excitement.

"Hey Hawke!" came Varric's voice, accompanying his head as it popped through the tent's opening. "Who won?"

The two stopped and looked up. Fenris quirked a brow in Varric's direction, leaning back on his haunches.

"Pay up, old man," Hawke giggled, reaching an open palm toward him.

Varric _tsk_ ed and flipped a sovereign her way, then let the leather flap opening go as he walked away grumbling.

Fenris turned his questioning gaze to the woman before him. "Who won what?"

Hawke scrunched her nose in a laugh and tucked the sovereign into her pocket. "We bet on whether you'd say 'filthy magister'."

Fenris frowned.

Hawke beamed.


End file.
